My wife keeps all her tools

inside two kitchen drawers,

and when she needs one

rumbles through

three pairs of scissors

and the opened glue

over the hammer and loose cup hooks

past six old fuses

twelve matchbooks

and finally finds

that long sought screw

under the extra shoelace

which she knew would come in handy

someday.

 

The tools

in the garage

out of her way

are mine.

They rest in places carefully aligned

awaiting

the touch of a soft hand

that transports them to a very different land.